


EPISODE EIGHT: Chaos, Terror and Vanilla Creme

by J_COTW



Series: A Return to the Falls [28]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dipacifica, Dipcifica, Dippacifica, F/M, Gen, Gravity Falls Oregon, Inspired By Gravity Falls, PacificaxDipper, Post-Gravity Falls, Returning to Gravity Falls, dipperxpacifica, return to the falls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 14:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_COTW/pseuds/J_COTW
Summary: A famous site has leered over Gravity Falls for some time. A disused snack cake factory of a world-famous - and completely synthetic - brand that hides a dark history. One that it shares with the Wentworth family.With Pacifica growing increasingly attached to Lazy Susan, Greasy's Diner and the history of them both, she's all too eager to join the Pines investigating the dark, foreboding building. Nobody is sure what to expect, but the place is sure to be a magnet for ne'er do wells...
Relationships: Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines
Series: A Return to the Falls [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764109
Comments: 70
Kudos: 20





	1. But first, Breakfast!

“Order up!”

Lazy Susan smiled as she picked up the still hot plates in her, by now, practically asbestos-fleshed hands, navigating the counter of Greasy’s Diner with surprising tact. It was, after all, a walk she had now done for over twenty years. 

Greasy’s Diner was everything she knew, and, without fail, it was everything she wanted. It was where old friends, new friends and very old friends could come and go, where there seemed to always be pleasant old faces and familiarity at every turn. 

She tapped the same old woodpecker out of her way as she roamed over to table 13, where Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Ford and Pacifica were sitting happily - the latter waiting for her shift to start, already bedecked in the uniform. 

The warm hit of the sunlight, the sweet smell of maple sausage links, the sound of the milkshake mixer (Gladys, who was now on her 15th year of service and had a right arm like a redwood) and the friendly, welcoming chatter of the townsfolk, refrained by pleasant sizzling and the bubbling of coffee pots.

Greasy’s was not perfect, that was for sure - but it was home, and for Susan, it was a lifelong passion. Along with yarn and cats. And her decorative plate collection displaying iconic scenes from the _Austrian Killer Robot_ films. Albert Schwartzkopf was a _hunk_. 

She strolled over to her favourite table, sliding the plates onto the table with a smile and her familiar, enthusiastic albeit unmistakably nasal drone. "How are we all doing todayyyy?" 

"We're doin' great, sweetie. How's the joint?" 

"Jointy as ever, Stanley! Always better for the sight of you at my tables, huhh?" the good natured woman replied, stroking her hand down Stanley's coarse chin. 

Pacifica, Mabel and Dipper all recoiled. Ford just pulled the newspaper higher over his face and grumbled something about his brother being an absolute lunatic for even considering such a relationship. 

"Ya know flattery gets you everywhere with Stan Pines, sweetheart. Not in front of the kids, huh?" 

"Or me, thank you very much." Ford mumbled. 

"Shut ya trap, Sixer."

Susan smiled and tusselled Pacifica's hair warmly. "So long as y'all don't distract my best waitress for too long, you've got refills on the house. Just don't be a nuisance, Stanleyyyy!" 

Pacifica giggled and fought off her boss's tusselling hand half heartedly. "Hey, deputy manager, remember?”

“Well, _deputy manager_ , maybe try eating your breakfast _instead_ of holding hands with Dipper, or you’ll end up being late to work.” Susan smirked. “For all I know, you’ll end up in the broom cupboard halfway during the shift!”

Ford choked on his coffee and glared, furiously.

“HA! That’s frickin’ hilarious!” Stan cackled, thumping a meaty fist onto the table. “I bet this place doesn’t even _have_ a broom cupboard!”

“Well, there’s the generator hut round back.” Pacifica corrected him.

Dipper dropped his fork and glanced at Pacifica with wide eyes. The Northwest hear cleared her throat awkwardly and went back to eating. “J-just saying.”

“So that’s where we gotta keep an eye out, huh?” Mabel beamed, poking her brother’s arm. “You two gonna end up getting _scandalous_?! I’ve read enough age-inappropriate romantic-fiction to-” 

“Mabel.”

Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Ford lowered his newspaper and raised an eyebrow. “Generator? Why would this place need a generator?”

“Hey, until I linked this joint up, it was all off grid, Ford.” Stan said. “I taught Suse how to hook up through the lamppost outside. Ended up in hospital for two weeks with electrical burns.” 

Stan sipped his coffee contentedly while Ford glared at him in disbelief. 

There was an awkward pause. Susan stood there vacantly with her usual friendly, aimless smile, which only made the increasing tensions even worse. She rocked back and forth on her feet gently, before preparing to potter away back to her duties-

“This generator. A Wentworth one, I take it?” Ford asked, folding up his newspaper. 

“Oh yes, Mr. Other Stanley!”

“I believe I used some Wentworth components in my por-... projects.” Ford smiled, ignoring the name ‘other Stanley’ with surprising technique… “Your family was quite a name around these parts.” 

Susan beamed. “They used to say that the Corduroys, Wentworths and Northwests _built_ this town. Mostly forgotten now, but my family’s work is everywhere. The bridge, the old railroad, the church-”

“And the abandoned cake factory up North.” Ford smiled. “Quite an accomplishment.”

“Cake factory?!” Mabel gasped. “There’s a cake factory, and you never took me there?! Whaaaat? That’s like, the _most_ Mabel thing!”

“Sweetie,” Stan interjected. “You need ta choose one. A cake factory, the petting zoo, the yarn shop, the golf course and the candy emporium can’t all be the ‘most Mabel things’.”

“I am a lady with incredible variety.” Mabel replied, haughtily, sipping from her super-choco-creamo-hot-chocolate-cocoalicious as if it was a cup of fine Darjeeling tea, pinkie out and nose lifted. “I am a lady of many, many tastes. All of them super sweet, super cute, and super awesome.”

Pacifica smirked. “Do you even think about what you’re saying half the time?”

“Who needs to?” Mabel grinned, a spoon now balancing on her nose. “You guys worry too much about stuff. Happy-go-lucky is the best way to make sure you don’t go nuts!”

“Some people might say you’re already nuts.” She said, snarkily.

“Those people are probably crazy, dumb, or both. Or super grumpy and cynical and repressed.”

“Interesting theory.” 

“From the most interesting person at the table.” Mabel nodded. 

“As I was saying,” Ford finally overtook. “The old Dinkies snack cake factory-”

Everyone paused as Susan, to their surprise, had left. 

“How rude.” Ford blinked. 

“Yeah… that isn’t like Susan.” Pacifica blinked. “Like, at all.”

“You think she’s okay?” Dipper asked quietly. 

“I’ll talk to her.” 

Stan nodded. Pacifica found it kinda sweet how concerned he was about the woman. “You do that, sweets. And uh- hey, see if you can find out her favourite dinner date, huh? Other than _Hungry Fellow_ meals or somethin’.”

Paz nodded sincerely - before blinking and wrinkling her sharp nose. “You cooked her _Hungry Fellow_ for a date?”

“Hey, it was the Salisbury Steak. That’s pretty fancy stuff. Costs like three bucks apiece. I even added a bay leaf on each one. Or some kinda leaf, anyway.” 

“Ever the romantic.” Ford rolled his eyes with a smirk. “You have this to look forward to, Pacifica. The Pines’ idea of romance runs in the family.” 

“If Dipper tried to bring me a TV dinner for a romantic meal, I’d drown him in the gravy.”

The family chuckled and went back to their idle conversations about any old nonsense - all except Stanley and Pacifica, who couldn’t help but pause and glance over towards the Diner - where Susan was no longer to be seen. They looked at each other with a raised eyebrow and a twisted lip.

The Northwest heir realised, of course, that it meant another disruption to a peaceful day in Gravity Falls. God forbid she went a day of work without some kind of mystery or puzzle rearing its strange little head.

She huffed and finished her coffee, giving Dipper a great big kiss on the cheek, a tap of the nose and a wide smile - barely giving him a moment to speak before she slipped out of the booth to start her shift. “See you all later, guys.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“What _wouldn’t_ you do, Mabel?” Pacifica replied, flicking her hair. 

“I’ll think of something!” came the chipper - and far too loud - reply. 

Dipper finally felt his cheeks cool down and his eyes stop following his girlfriend. He blinked as he tried to get his focus back - then glanced to Ford. “Abandoned cake factory?” 

Ford smiled at his young apprentice. “I figured that’d peak your interests.”


	2. Generating Some Trepidation

“Susan?”

Pacifica peered around the rear entrance of Greasy’s Diner, towards the generator hut that sat, ramshackle and precarious, in the back of the diner's yard. Strewn alongside it was a pile of old railroad ballast and the odd piece of rail and shrapnel from the train wreck, that still seemed to burst through the floor as a constant reminder of the place's dark history.

It always felt odd whenever Susan _wasn't_ smiling. Though it wasn't the most worrying aspect. 

"Susan, are you alright? A cat just passed and you didn't even try to pet it."

Susan smiled weakly as she dusted the old generator. "Pacificaaaa. You should be focusing on the customers, not little old me."

"I've got time."

"My family used to be a big name, Pacifica. My dad, my granpappy, my great granpappy, my great great granpappy, my great great great-" 

Pacifica twitched in an attempt to prevent her eyes rolling, and interrupted as politely as she could. It still didn't come entirely natural to her. "Yeah?" 

"They were all inventors. Tinkerers. They deserved better than they got."

Pacifica winced. After all, she knew how much the Wentworths had been exploited by _her_ family. She knew how much of it, in some way, was the fault of the demented Northwest ancestors. Hell, she knew the _train crash_ was the fault of them, too, and that had basically ruined their reputation. Or so she thought. 

"The factory that Stanford was talking about; that was meant to be my family's greatest achievement. Where it all changed. The Dinkies snack cake was as much his creation as it was anyone else's."

Susan was a very different person when she was sad. Her enthusiastic drawl had diminished, her familiar smile eradicated, her sole functioning eye looking down at the clearly embossed title of "W E N T W O R T H" on the old generator's rusted addled, creaking side. She seemed strangely isolated and introverted, none of which fit with… well, anyone's perspective of Lazy Susan. 

"I mean, I've heard of Dinkies. They're, like, a big thing - right? You should be rich!" 

Susan smiled. "We might have been. But the factory was a strange place, Pacifica. People went missing. Disaster after disaster. It was like the place was cursed."

"Wouldn't be that weird in this town."

"It's a strange thing." Susan said, furrowing her brow. "I always knew weird things were going on, but could never remember them. Since last summer, it all seems to make a bit more… sense. I don’t know how I ever missed it."

Pacifica blinked, harking back to what she had read in Dipper's journal - and briefly wondering how much the Pines thought about the Blind Eye. How much they thought about the consequences of that stuff. 

How good, really, could it be for people to remember this stuff? Like, sure, deal with your problems, don’t hide from them, yadda yadda - she understood the moral stuff, sure. But when it came to some of the stuff that the family dealt with, some of the stuff they had seen and discovered - even some of the outright threatening stuff they had helped defeat. Like, these things could _hurt_ people.

She’d be foolish if she didn’t think about it. Dipper and Mabel were still dealing with no small amount of panic and discomfort regarding Bill Cipher and Weirdmageddon. Surely the memory gun stuff would have been good for them? She could still do without remembering the rearrangement of her dad’s face, the bleeding taxidermy, seeing a body under her childhood home-

Hell, there was lots of stuff she’d have liked to forget. How moral was it to take that bliss away from people? She didn’t like really thinking about it, but… sometimes it seemed like there might be more harm than good in the truth. 

I mean, a few days ago they were dealing with Clurichauns burning restaurants and stealing croissants. How much of that do people need to know about, really? 

She knew more about the Northwests and Wentworths than Susan probably did. She was pretty sure Susan had no idea one of her family’s biggest projects was underneath the old Northwest Manor - and, when given the chance, the opportunity to say something… Pacifica had elected not to say a word. It just seemed like the nicer thing to do. She wasn't one to keep secrets like that, but was the truth really that great a thing when it was so hurtful? 

Pacifica bit her lip and glanced at the generator. She had a feeling that a cursed factory was probably more Curzon and Northwest stuff. That wasn't exactly her favourite thing to keep stumbling on over summer. 

Just once it'd be nice if it wasn't her family's fault. Was that really too much to ask? 

She sat next to Susan and huffed. “So, what actually happened? Like, one generation builds a freakin’ railroad, the next one builds a factory and the next, what, builds a diner?”

Susan chuckled. “The railroad disaster was pretty bad, but it wasn’t really the stuff my granpappy built at fault, was it? I mean, it’s still standing. How bad could the bridge be if it’s not even moved since it was built?” 

“I guess.”

“The Wentworth reputation was in tatters, sure, but things went a bit…” Susan gestured vaguely with her hands. “...Wrong, after that. People said it was like my family were possessed or something. They’d wake up exhausted, covered in dirt and oil as if they’d been working in their sleep.” 

Pacifica cringed and cleared her throat. “C-crazy.”

“Completely. Things didn’t just go wrong with the machines. My poor grandpappy just got more and more unhinged. It all went wrong. It all became a disaaaaaster.” 

Susan paused as she looked up at the old railroad bridge that still cast its unmistakable silhouette upon the little Oregon town, as if it was marking the trajectory of the grand calamity that had befallen the once peaceful, perfect little township. 

… _Mostly_ peaceful, perfect little township. 

The older woman stood up and smiled, taking a few steps back towards the rustic, crooked little log-on-a-train-chassis that represented her family’s true, long lasting impact on the town on Gravity Falls. 

**“** So the Diner became a safe option. Something easy. Quiet. He helped put the plans together, helped build it, helped fit out the redwood - and did it all for cheap, with bits of train. I think he saw it as a redemption for the faaaamily.”

Pacifica blinked. It rarely occurred to her how little they really had discussed the diner. She had worked at Greasy’s for nearly a year, and had never really heard how it became the family business. In fact, she didn’t even know why it was called Greasy’s. She, like, figured it was because of the food - but then why was it Greasy’s? As in, possessive? Who the hell was Greasy? Did he invent the place’s world renowned chocolate-covered-bacon-pancakes or something? 

(Incidentally, if anyone visited Greasy’s, she’d totally recommended them. So bad, but so _good_.)

She was just about to ask the question when Susan answered it for her, obliviously. 

“It’s funny. ‘Greasy’ was like a family nickname.” She grinned. “Every family member was always covered in oil or grease or whatever - and it just stuck. More people knew my dad as ‘Greasy’ than they did ‘Stephen’.”

“I guess in that sense you follow the nickname, huh?” Pacifica giggled. 

“You could say that.” Susan chuckled and pinched Pacifica’s cheek. “And the next generation, too.” 

Pacifica’s face broke into a wide grin - before falling back as the penny dropped. “Wait. Next generation?”

Susan smiled and began to speak a little more seriously. “I don’t have kids, Pacifica. Old Mr. Tiiiime has seen that won’t happen. But this Diner’s gotta go someplace when I retire. You’re the closest I have to a faaaamily. You’d do me proud.”

Pacifica blinked, not entirely sure how to process the concept. Sure, Susan probably wouldn’t retire until she was, like, a hundred years old - but all the same, it was quite a big thing for her. She almost had to glance at the older woman again just to get a guarantee it wasn’t a joke.

“Really?”

“I can think of nobody I’d want more, Miss Northwest!”

_Wow._

Susan _trusted_ her. Trusted her enough to take on her family’s legacy. It might just be a bacon and pancake joint inside a giant log, but it was a bacon and pancake joint in a giant log that Pacifica had absolutely _fallen in love with._

She couldn’t help but think of that fateful day in September when she had turned up shaking at the knees, clutching a ‘help wanted’ poster, wrinkling her nose at the sight of every item on the menu, at the lack of silverware and crystal, at the loosely kept piles of paper napkins and at the fact not a single member of staff was French.

And just as she was prepared to twist on her heel and give it up as a stupid idea, Susan had poured her a milkshake, taken the poster and offered her a job. 

It was the first time Pacifica had walked into a place and gotten properly accepted.

And now, that same woman - the one who had hired a 13-year-old selfish socialite without a single bitter word or unpleasant attitude - was treating her like family. There was no doubting it - Greasy’s welcomed her, and did so with very real, very tangible warmth.

The Northwest heir smiled as she went over the memories - and almost, for a moment, forgot about the presence of Susan at all. She looked up to an almost expectant glance from the older woman and snapped back into reality with a jolt. 

“I- I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t even have to say yes until the time comes, Pacifica. Just know that there’s nobody I’d trust more with this place.” Susan replied. The warmth in her voice was unmistakable. No sarcasm. And lord knows Pacifica was checking it in her head at breakneck speed. 

There was a pause. Then, without a second’s extra thought, Pacifica threw herself at her boss, giving her a tight hug as her mind started doing somersaults. A Wentworth having that much trust for a Northwest - after everything she had seen - felt very gratifying for Pacifica. Incredibly so. 

Susan may not know the full story of the Wentworths and the Northwests. But Pacifica did. And right now, if she needed any other evidence of her being better than those that came before her, better than her family name, better than her ancestor’s crimes… it was this.


	3. A Real Mess of Reels

Ford grunted as he stumbled into the living room, his hands laden with a large cardboard box, overflowing with piles of paper, film cans, paraphernalia and a particularly ancient can of spam. 

Dipper watched with eyebrows raised while Mabel, Soos and Waddles assembled a wide range of film snacks. After all, Stanley had set up an ancient projector and got the fire extinguisher ready. Even Melody had peeked in from behind the gift shop counter with no small amount of interest. 

Ford let the crate down with a dull whump onto the little round table in the corner of the living room. The impact was enough to cause the fish tank to rattle, and led to the old scientist letting out an exaggerated grunt of exertion. 

“Gettin’ old, huh, Sixer?”

“You can’t talk, Stanley. At least I don’t need a hearing aid.”

“Hey, these things are a blessing. It’s how I tune out half of ya’ crapola.” 

Ford smirked and punched Stan in the arm in typical brotherly banter as he started rifling through the box. “This is basically every newsreel I could leech off of the local authorities.”

“Shouldn’t they be in the museum or something?” Dipper asked, picking up one of the reels.

“I’m-” Ford paused and stammered somewhat. “-I’m not technically their legally recognised owner. These things were meant to be locked up in a state archive somewhere, and I decided to employ some young men to- uh-”

The scientist froze - and went quite silent - at the disapproving stares of the kids. Not to mention, of course, the broad, wicked (albeit predictable) grin of his brother, who threw a proud arm around his shoulder and gave him another gentle pound to the arm. “You got some kids to do ya dirty work?!”

“They were going to steal the valuables anyway, I just took the opportunity to ask them a favour! It was a valid aim of knowledge, no different to the men who bought from Burke and Hare! I’m just an innocent third party-”

Dipper plucked up a poorly written letter that was folded and crudely taped to the side of the box. _“Here you are, Mister. Your stolen goods. Leave $100 in the back of-”_

Ford snatched it and bit his lip. “Anyway, as I was saying-”

"Dudes, I don't uh- I don't wanna interrupt, but who the smokes is Burke an' Hare?" 

The two old men paused. Ford winced as he looked at the expectant gazes of Soos, Mabel, and Dipper. "A story for another time, maybe.”

“I’m totally going to look that up.” Mabel whispered to Soos. 

“Dawg, I’m, like, this close to putting these nachos down and getting my phone.”

The hyperactive Pines twin gave a scandalised gasp. “How close?”

Soos ate a nacho and paused. “I uh… I Gotta be honest, Hambone. I’m gettin’ less close. Less close all the time, dawg.”

He held it out without another word to Mabel and, now, his girlfriend - who had come in and perched on the side of the armchair, her hands gently rubbing his shoulders. 

“What’s going on?” She whispered. 

“Mysterious factory.” Soos whispered back.

“That all? Seems normal for you guys.”

“It’s a Dinkies factory that people disappeared in!”

“Yeah, see? Almost _plain_. Gonna get us some new exhibits?”

“I totally am, babe. Tourists love the local stuff.”

“That’s my teddy bear.” Melody beamed.

The two shared a fond high five - and continued sharing nachos with Mabel - as they watched Grunkle Stan and Ford struggle to load the film canister into the Leviathanesque old projector. 

Dipper had never seen one of these old-timey projectors in person before, and was fairly sure - judging from how decrepit it was - that he’d never see one in one piece after today. It rattled and teetered worryingly with every slight touch, struggling to hold itself together as equally as the stand seemed to struggle to support its impressive, rusted bulk. 

“How does it work?” He finally asked. 

“Why, it’s steam-powered, Dipper!” Ford grinned. “Just pop the oil in here and light her up!”

The silence spoke volumes. Ford was expecting groans and laughter. Instead, the two kids and Soos sat quietly, waiting for his demonstration. 

“... It’s just electric. It’s only thirty seven years ol- a-am I really that old?”

“We’re both ancient, slick.” Stan replied disinterestedly. “We ain’t gettin’ any younger. Plug it in.”

It took an embarrassingly long time to set up the projector with the ancient film reel. Soos fell asleep twice while Dipper finally finished a Matzio Moose’s crossword that had been torturing him for at least a day. Mabel even knitted a balaclava for Waddles. He didn’t even need a balaclava. He already had six of them. 

The screaming ventilator fans and whirling, the painful chatter of rusted metal and dust-drenched switches was deafening. Waddles ran out of the room. Stan and Goldie’s wedding photograph fell to the floor. A spring flew free from the armchair. 

“What the hell is wrong with it?!” Stan yelled over the cacophony. 

“This is how it always sounded!” Ford replied at the top of his voice. “I was a bit short on cash once I’d paid for the reels, and-”

A small burst of flame erupted from the rear momentarily as a collection of cobwebs set alight deep in the whirring, roaring projector’s innards. Stan raised an eyebrow as if it had personally offended him, while Ford got on with turning off the lights and pinning a blanket to the wall, so it could act as a screen. 

All very high-tech at the Mystery Shack. 

“Dude, this reminds me of the b-movies I used to watch when Abuelita went to bed and left me playing video games.”

Dipper smirked. “I love those old movies.”

“Aw bro, some of ‘em are classics. There was one about this witch hunter guy, and he hunted witches, and the twist was none of them were actually witches, he was just a complete nut-”

“SHH!”

“Sorry, Mr. Pines.” 

The ancient newsreel flickered into life with an overbearingly tinny soundtrack of newsreel trumpets and pompous acclaim, displaying what appeared to be a somewhat crooked paper cutout of the Gravity Falls water tower. 

“That’s the first water tower.” Ford explained. “It got eaten by beavers.”

“What’s with this place and beavers?” Dipper asked - before being interrupted by the somewhat garbled voice of Timothy Determined and a static introduction card. Dipper presumed that must be Toby’s grandfather. The son of Tobias Determined. 

**_The Gossiper Televisual Newsreel by Timothy Determined, Oregon’s 30th most celebrated newsman!_ **

The picture made Dipper and Mabel wince. Clearly, the Cankerblight curse had taken pretty severe hold by that point. The journalist had the signature underbite, the bulbous nose, and only the barest hint of Tobias’s square, chiselled jaw. The Determineds were no longer Oregon’s most handsome, successful journalist family. 

They were now the 30th. And probably, like, the 618th most handsome. Pretty sad. 

**_Eyeball Hill! Once voted the tenth most mysterious site in Gravity Falls! A surprisingly globular hill in the centre of the town’s brand new science precinct - which is closing down due to lack of investment and interest._ **

**_Here stands the abandoned remains of the Ocular Experimentation Programme Laboratory, where the town’s greatest minds have uncovered startling secrets. Apparently. We say apparently because nobody knows! After several localised earth tremors from deep within Eyeball Hill and a small toxic waste incident, the laboratory was closed in the latter half of 1932. When asked for a statement, the townspeople declared scientists as being ‘jerks.’_ **

Mabel and Dipper were pretty sure they could hear Ford's indignant lip twisting from the statement. They decided not to acknowledge it. 

**_Now, this enormous complex is seeing a MARBLES-m-marvellous transformation with the coming of America’s latest synthetic snack sensation, The Dinkies snack cake. An imitation sponge cake with creme inside it?! The future is here, people! Turn over cue card for next sentence!_ **

**_Oh._ **

The trundling background music did very little to mask the noise of cue cards being flipped and Timothy murmuring to himself about them being out of order. 

**_The brand new factory is full of trade secrets, many of which have led to plans of industrial espionage beyond the scale seen since the creation of peanut butter. How does one get the alternative homogenised creme substitute inside that tiny little sponge cake?! The world may never know!_ **

**_We spoke with the inventor of the top secret Dinkies Snack Cake Pioneer, Stephen Wentworth, to ask what he could tell us about this amazing innovation!_ **

**_He said no, it's top secret! We offered him fifty dollars, and he said if we kept trying he would call the police. Truly a man of principle and mystery._ **

**_Could this be the next stage in our great town’s development? Perhaps one day we, too, can be an industrial powerhouse! The next New York City! The next Baltimore! The next Wyoming! The future is here, people, and it all comes from a miniature snack cake and a packet of smile dip!_ **

The image changed to Timothy himself holding a snack cake and smiling to the camera as he took a bite. 

His face fell almost instantly. 

**_Oh boy, they sure are good! Tastes like American patriotism!_ **

**_Keith, pass me a bucket, I think I'm going to be sick-_ **

The newsreel ended with the flickering sound of flapping celluloid, and the projector managed to set itself on fire again. Stan and Ford grabbed the extinguisher and soon had it out, while the kids and Soos watched with interest, still eating cinema snacks as if it was nothing more than a floor show. 

Ford coughed as he doused down the smouldering elbow patch of his jacket. "So, that's the majority of what we know about it. The failure of the place isn't so widely documented. Rumours of industrial espionage, staff going missing, an ogre from the forest telling them to leave in a Scottish accent…"

"But it was Susan's Grandpa's thing? But - but Dinkies are everywhere! She should be a squillionaire!" Mabel protested enthusiastically. "They're amazing!" 

"So bad, but so good." Dipper nodded. "Even if they are mostly corn syrup and imitation corn syrup."

"Hey, that's how business works." Stan said with a complete lack of enthusiasm and a disinterested shrug. "Ya keep ideas from your staff, maybe give 'em a coupl'a bucks and a packet a'softmints as a bonus, and let the cash roll in."

"Sometimes Mr. Pines gave me two packets of softmints!"

"I did? Crap. You owe me a packet a'softmints, Soos."

“The story goes,” Ford said with a slight irritation, trying to steer the conversation back on top, “That when problems started happening, they blamed the man who designed the new factory…”

“Susan’s Grandpa?”

“That’s right, Mabel. They decided to leave Gravity Falls, rip out the machinery, say his designs were faulty and go off elsewhere less weird. They went to New York.” 

“New York?” Dipper recoiled. 

“New York, _Florida,_ ” Ford added. 

The entire family recoiled. 

“I know. Florida. _Florida_ is more normal than Gravity Falls.” Stanford sighed, almost exasperated. “A stark comment on how strange this place is.” 

“But if it was the machinery that was the problem, why move it? It must have been Gravity Falls that was the issue, not the machines!”

“ _Exactly_ , Dipper. They bought that old laboratory for a _dollar_ and still didn’t feel it justified the hazards.”

“Then what’s going on at Eyeball Hill?”

“Exactly, Dipper! What is going on?! That’s the question!” Ford grinned enthusiastically, ruffling Dipper’s hair. “You’re right on the money! It’s one great big mystery, one I never got a chance to solve. And after thirty years, it’s still unsolved.” 

“Seems like a bum rap for the Wentworths.” Stan sighed. “I mean, we’ve had cat-related differences but she’s a sweet broad. Good person.” 

“Then you can help us out.” Ford grinned, slapping his brother on the back. “You can investigate with us.”

“Hey, hey, hey. I don’t investigate nuffin’.” Stan replied. “You can go off on these things but if there’s a risk of tetanus and no paycheque in it, I’m stayin’ put. This is basically my Summer Break, Ford.”

“Stanley, I know it’s not exactly a holiday, but you’re good at this stuff. I promise, we come up against anything, you can get the first punch.” 

“You’re not gonna wanna put it in a specimen jar or some junk?”

“No, Stanley. You can punch it.” 

“Alright, alright. I’m in.”

“And for pete’s sake, why are you wearing that fez when you don’t even host tours any more?”

“I get a discount at, like, twelve different food joints with this thing, Ford. If I’m gettin’ 20% off a coffee, you better believe this thing’s stayin’ on my head when I’m on land.” 

Ford rubbed his temples and murmured to himself as his eccentric brother accessorised with the fake eyepatch. “And that?”

“Disabled discounts.”

Ford continued murmuring to himself as he started assembling his plans and paperwork to aid the family in their latest exploration. Blueprints, maps, diagrams and his notebooks piled up in front of them while Mabel crunched nachos and asked questions. 

Dipper nodded as if he completely understood every single thing he was looking at. Stan stayed aside listening in to his brother’s almost expert-levels of rambling nonsense about old factory sites and their hazards, as if it would go absolutely anywhere to allay the risk of the kids getting themselves into trouble. 

Soos was about to join in when Melody grabbed his arm. “Uh-uh. You know the rule, hun’. No dangerous adventures-”

“-Until they invent cybernetic arms...” Soos sighed.

“You got it.” Melody grinned, tapping his nose. 

Soos looked down at his nose and blushed. Melody had clearly been picking up tricks from Pacifica and Dipper.

That kinda junk totally worked, dude.


	4. On the Road Again

The afternoon came quickly - and Pacifica was, as usual, happy to get a potential break - not least because it meant going back to her family. 

And Dipper. 

Especially Dipper. 

She smiled to herself, newly invigorated, and took a deep breath of the Oregon air as she descended the teetering wooden steps to the Diner’s main door. The hot summer air and soft breeze passed gently through her hair, the dusky air and soft, silken grass ahead of her providing an almost perfect environment for introspection and meditation. 

She had, if nothing else, truly learnt how good the simple things in life were, and was all too content to take the time to enjoy them when she could. After all, with the Pines in her life, she got more than enough excitement, romance and terror on the side. Like those fanfictions she read online.

Nobody could know that she read those fanfictions. It was a guilty pleasure. 

Probably as guilty as it got, really. 

The Northwest heir adjusted her hair as she stepped towards the memorial for The Great Train Crash, sat as it was beside the diner’s chassis - marking ground zero of where the locomotive had struck the ground. 

She twisted her lip and polished the brass plaque carefully with her sleeve, before putting one of Susan’s table flowers at the foot with a smile.

As terrifying as the Ghost of Greasy’s had been - and boy, had he been a terrifying thing to come up against - he had, in some way, been instrumental to her current situation. Of course, there was also the fact the ghost had been working at the hands of her increasingly desperate Dad.

She couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until Preston’s frowning face and sharp tongue would appear in her life again. 

Worrying to consider. Her dad may have agreed to a truce, but she knew not to trust the man’s words to any great measure. He was a born liar - a born manipulator. Not evil. No, she could never see her dad as evil. He was just trapped in the life of a crook and didn’t know any better. His life was his family name, and his family’s name was his life. 

Pacifica found herself huffing and trying to ignore the negative thoughts rattling through her. Thankfully, she now came ready packed with a distraction - at least until the family came to pick her up.

The blonde took a seat on the bench and smiled, flicking through some of the photographs that Ford continued to give her; sights and splendours from the seafaring adventures of the two Grunkles, stashed in disarray alongside the battered sailor’s hat they had given her. Right alongside the picture of Dipper in that ‘pre-teen wolf boy’ costume that Mabel had given her.

She didn’t really get why Mabel had given her it.

Hell. Pacifica didn’t really get why _she_ kept it, either. 

She glanced at it, cleared her throat and packed it away again, taking another few moments to just… enjoy the quiet, comfortable solace of the town. It was something, only last year, she’d have discredited as dumb. Now it was becoming every much part of her routine as cuddling up with Dipper in that gross old armchair, or resting her head on his shoulder when they were travelling. 

Simple things. She guessed that was it. Pacifica had grown to love the simple things. The Diner, the Shack, the warmth of her boyfriend, fried food - there was a lot to be said for simple things.

A shame, then, that it all still felt so complicated. That she still wasn’t sure where she was going. What she was going to do. What her future was after Summer. What it all meant. 

She dearly, dearly wanted to stay with Susan and see Gravity Falls every day of her life. She also dearly wanted to see the world with the two old men and make a name for herself outside of "Northwest". 

She also dearly, dearly wanted Dipper and Mabel to stay. 

With a sigh, Pacifica started tapping out a message on her phone to Dipper - along the lines of ‘“where are you, you dork? I can’t wait all day-” but was promptly interrupted by the brand new horn that Stan had hammered into the Diablo. Which sounded roughly somewhere between a freight train and a trumpet. 

The battered old car promptly mounted the kerb and crashed into a mailbox. All standard, really. 

“Stanley, for pete’s sake, why don’t you let _me_ drive?”

“I’m not insured for another driver.” 

“You pay insurance?”

“... I’m not insured for any driver.”

Pacifica blinked. That was the fourth time this week that Stan had demolished that mailbox, and it was only Monday. She huffed, zipped her satchel back up and dove into the car enthusiastically. “Hey guys!” 

“PAZ!” Mabel shouted at the top of her voice. “Did you bring us leftover chocolate cake?”

“No.”

Mabel huffed. “Rude.” 

“You’ve never even asked me to-”

“Why should I have to ask for something so _obvious_?!”

Pacifica rolled her eyes and smirked, grabbing Dipper’s hands and kissing his cheek. “Hey, hon.”

The teenager froze, as if displays of affection were still something particularly new and panic inducing for him. By this point, the two had just kind of made a silent agreement that Dipper got flustered as equally as he got startled by a balloon bursting or the sound of Vera Lynn music. 

Probably all hangovers from Weirdmageddon. 

Although, to be fair, she had always known Dipper as being awkward at best and a neurotically paranoid insomniac literally _every other time_. She was pretty sure it was part of the reason she found him so likeable. 

Sort of a ‘he looks after me, I look after him’ thing, she guessed. 

“H-hey.” Dipper stammered with a wide smile, kissing her in return. “Y-you look great.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow and looked down at her filthy apron. “Dipper, I’m, like, covered in syrup and bacon grease.” 

“I’ve had a few nights in Vegas that were worse.” Stan mumbled - before swiftly getting a six-fingered punch in the arm. Thankfully, the kids weren’t paying attention.

“You’re still less greasy than his hair.” Mabel snorted. “When are you gonna shower, bro bro?!” 

“I showered last week, Mabel!”

“The defence rests!” Came the chipper retort.

“What defence?” Ford said casually, not even turning his head to face them. “Dipper, the moment we get home from this, you’re showering.” 

“Wait. What’s this?” Pacifica asked. 

“We’re going to explore an abandoned factory!” Mabel beamed. “The place we were talking about in the Diner!”

The Grunkles and Dipper glanced at each other uncertainly, almost - for a moment - expecting Pacifica to start protesting, or arguing, or getting really annoyed for suggesting another big adventure when she’d only just finished work. 

“The Dinkies place?”

“Y-yeah.”

“...Cool. I’m in.” Pacifica grinned, strapping herself in. “Let’s go.”

Stan clicked on the 8-track and, within only moments, they were breaking every local speed limit they could, roaring out of town towards the silhouette of that curiously round hilltop and the looming edifice that stood atop it. 

All of them expected nothing more than an ordinary bit of evening spelunking and urbexing. 

They weren’t quite prepared for the level of secrets they were about to find on Eyeball Hill. If this was a dumb cartoon, or an overdramatic fiction dedicated to such, there would be some kind of dramatic musical cue, or a lightning burst, or some crap. To closest they got to that was the sound of Toby Determined rifling through trash cans. 


	5. Eyeball Hill

“Stanley, if you sing ‘singing the driving song’ one more time, I will grab that steering wheel and steer us straight into a wall.”

“I can’t hear ya, Ford. I’m busy singing the driving song.” 

Mabel peeked in from behind the driving seat. “Grunkle Ford, if you tell him it’s annoying, he’ll do it more. It’s a sibling thing. _Trust_ me.”

“That’s very helpful, Pumpkin,” Stanford smiled, ruffling Mabel’s hair. “But Stanley is in his 60s and needs to grow up.”

“Said the man who still manages to find Sarcastipup funny.” Stan retorted, negotiating a hairpin turn and breaking five road safety laws in the process. 

“I find the dry humour amusing!”

“The humour in that crap ain’t just dry, it’s evaporated.”

Before long, the imposing lump of industrialism was clearly in view. Stan gave an impressed whistle as the Diablo rattled past the battered, ageing billboard (now adorned in a variety of graffiti that isn’t fit for print) and into what, once upon a time, had been a loading yard for lorries and wagons. 

Nearby, rapidly being taken over by vegetation, there sat a scar in the landscape, cut deep through the forest - the unmistakable route of the old Railroad, with a narrow, wooden, ramshackle shed, leaning over the rotting wood and rusting steel of the ill-fated factory’s rail link - Gravity Fall’s last real transit link to the real world, save the equally ill-maintained highways back to civilisation. 

Dipper figured it was probably there that Blubs and Durland had loaded them onto the train with Trembley. Not least because ‘Durland x Blubs’ was carved into one of the trees. 

A few pairs of rusting wheels and axles, the odd discarded railroad tie and a pile of bits and pieces seemed strewn across the site with complete disarray. For the natural explorer that had developed in the kids, it was fascinating.

Mabel was already taking as many Polaroid photos as she could. 

Dipper and Pacifica looked up and blinked. 

The old factory was quite an edifice. A looming, creaking, brutalist structure of concrete and brick - featureless blocks and chimneys marred by silos, arched windows and doors. It seemed to lean over them judgmentally - an Aladdin's Cave of Wonders that groaned its disapproval with the soft summer's breeze and glared into the hearts of the Pines family with faceless - yet unmistakable - disdain. 

A pigeon flew from one of many holes in the roof. Unseen crows could be heard squawking. Interior clangs and cracks could be heard as the structure seemed to pepper and sprinkle its debris and detritus on whatever lay within, as if it was making a slow effort to bury its forbidden contents from prying eyes. 

The group stared up in silence. With a shuddering creak, one of the enormous letters on the DINKIES billboard fell only a few feet in front of them with a hollow thunk and a leap of gravel. The pines fell silent. 

“Man.” Stan mumbled. “That’s the biggest D I’ve seen since I visited San Fran’ in the Summer of ‘73.”

“Stanley.”

“What?!”

Mabel was torn between being bitterly disappointed and being ridiculously excited. “This doesn’t look like a cake factory at all to me. But it _does_ look awesome.” 

“I mean, it’s been abandoned for years.” Dipper said. “You expected a dancing puppet show and raining sprinkles?”

Mabel paused and glared at her brother, as if he had committed an unwieldy wrong against her. “Dipper, get out of my head.”

Pacifica giggled. But it didn’t last.

The wind seemed colder on Eyeball Hill. The leering factory, the looming pine trees and the air, sweeping down from the mountainous cliffs, seemed to render the environment bleak and frigid, as if it was a whole world away from the hot summer’s dusk back in town. 

She stepped a little closer to Dipper, who - after a slight hesitation - wrapped an arm around her waist, defensively. They both looked up at the monolithic old ruin and glanced at each other, swallowing hard simultaneously. 

It felt… wrong. Pacifica had, this summer, dealt with many an unpleasant sight - and many an unpleasant site, too. But the factory seemed different, somehow. The decaying wreck seemed like it had a personality all of its own. The once syrup-golden paintwork had now flaked and cracked from its facade, bleached into a strange, chalky porcelain. The white stone had greyed and dimmed into an unpleasant oatmeal grey. 

The windows were so encrusted with filth that they were more like endless pits of darkness. The rotting fittings, pipes, gutters and frames all seemed unnatural, twisted and unpleasant - like they had been purposefully arranged to discombobulate the building into something cruel and cynical. 

Nobody seemed particularly enthusiastic about setting foot inside. Not least due to the large sign saying ‘DANGER: KEEP OUT. YOU MAY DIE.’, alongside similar boards and announcements saying ‘CONDEMNED’ and ‘THIS IS NOT A JOKE, LEAVE.’

“Ya think the guys wanted to get a message out?” Stan asked his brother, clearly unimpressed.

“I think that there’s something very much worth hiding in here.” Ford replied. “Stan, do you want to do the honours?”

“Huh?”

“Kick the door down.” 

The old man grinned, cracked his back and all-too-eagerly started to do what he did best of all. Criminal damage. 

As it turned out, there wasn’t that much effort involved. The doors opened idly with only minor groans of protest. Stan punted it once in his favourite shipping boots and blinked as, rather than resisting - even without splinting - they swung open, slowly. Painfully, creaking with a hideous noise like nails down a chalkboard - but did so, all the same. 

Ford grimaced as he checked the broken chain. And he spoke about it severely. “Someone else has been here.” 

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell else would have been there?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a clean cut. See?”

“No.26 bolt cutters.” Stan said as he examined the clean gash through the worn steel. “Maybe a 26.5, I’m a- I’m a little rusty.”

Ford smirked. “See why you’re good for this stuff?”

“Hey, a workin’ man’s gotta know his bolt cutters. Either way, it’s someone tough or a group. That’s a pretty hefty chunk’a chain, no matter how rusty it is.”

“You think they’re still here?”

“I ‘unno. I’m no forensic guy. I just know my bolt cutters. And crowbars. And knives. And explosives-”

“Explosives?”

“I’m never allowed back in Guatemala.” 

Ford decided to stop questioning in case he got accused of being a cop - and, gingerly, the group entered the enormous industrial tomb with flashlights in hand and utility boots on their feet.

The interior was an equally crooked, unwelcoming shell. A single birch tree stood forlornly in the centre, bursting free from a crack in the concrete and peering through a gigantic hole in the wooden floorboards above, basking in the slim beams of light that managed to get through the factory’s stained skylight. 

Chains, drive wheels, pulleys and roads hung above them, swinging like a forest of nooses.

A shallow whistling sound seemed to echo from within the enormous chimneys, belching out thick clods of soot as the wind flowed through each stack and out of the long-extinguished fire grates.

Clutter and junk, trashed machinery and crates peppered the entire building, and did so with wild abandon. Rotten floorboards seemed to positively dangle from their braces and nails. Pipes and flues wrapped around non-existent machinery in sharp, angular spirals that seemed bent and malformed out of shape. 

“Yeesh. What a wreck.” Stan muttered. 

“Anyone else feel like they’re being watched?” Dipper asked, tapping his fingers together.

“To be fair, Dip, you like… always think you’re being watched.” Pacifica said as they strolled through what had once been a reception room for the building.

“No, I- okay, yeah, kinda. But this is different. Something’s not right.”

“Dipper, the last time you thought we were being watched, you ripped out half of the school’s CCTV system.” Mabel giggled.

“Hey, I was right, wasn’t I? We _were_ being watched, technically.”

Pacifica tapped Dipper on the shoulder. “Guys…” 

“Dipper, CCTV doesn’t count, we knew we were being watched!”

“Look, for all I knew it could have been the feds.” Dipper protested. “You’ve seen the men in black wandering around-”

“Guys.” Pacifica tried to tap a little harder. 

“Dipper, I’m pretty sure those are just, like, bankers or something.” 

“What would bankers need with those weird earpieces and aviators?!”

“It’s Cali, Dip! It’s sunny and trendy!” 

“I’m telling you Mabel, it’s weird!”

Pacifica finally grabbed Dipper’s chin and forced him to look up. “ _Guys_.”

Dipper’s jaw dropped as, up above them, drenched in darkness, there was an unmistakable shape of a figure on one of the many catwalks, high above the cavernous space. It was a crooked, wiry, dangling sort of figure, hunched, with unnaturally skinny limbs. 

It scuttled out of view almost instantly, retreating deeper into the shadows hurriedly, as if it was aware it had been noticed. As if it knew the Pines were there to take the building’s hidden secrets.

As if there really _was_ something to hide. 

Ford furrowed his brow. “We’d better try and get up there.”

Stanley huffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Great. Great idea, we’ll chase after the freak that looks like he’s made of frickin’ pipe cleaners. How the hell do we even get up there? Ya think these rusted hulks are gonna hold us? I’m not gettin’ any slimmer, slick.”

“You’ve got a point.”

The two looked at the kids and raised an eyebrow.


	6. Ascending

The kids were all too eager to start making their way up there, armed light - with only Mabel’s camera, Dipper’s chewing pen collection, a bottle of perfume and a grappling hook. And Mabel’s camera was getting plenty of usage. 

The old iron stairs, ladders and catwalks were a difficult thing to navigate. The factory's metal access routes felt more like a crooked old fire escape rather than a particularly navigable path to the upper echelons of the building. 

It didn't feel like it was going to collapse any minute - more like in a couple of days. Regardless, Dipper and Pacifica found themselves markedly more cautious than usual. 

And they were usually pretty cautious. 

Mabel was… less so. “Man, this is gonna be awesome! It’s like Hipstergram taken to its logical conclusion! A worn out vintage factory, in a vintage format, with its own vintage filters! It’s, like, totally retro!” 

“I dunno how ‘retro’ cat stickers are.”

“Sh, sh - you hear that, Dipper? It’s the winds of change!”

“It’s probably a leaking gas pipe.” Dipper replied. He was pretty sure he was joking, but did glance worriedly at one of the ancient bits of machinery. 

Pacifica was going up there without needing any sort of incentive - eagerly, perhaps even incessantly, checking over every pile of paperwork, every old book or every ‘WENTWORTH’ sign they passed in the cluttered old factory. 

“Come on, come on…” Pacifica grumbled. 

“What is it you’re looking for?” Dipper finally asked after spending an uncomfortable amount of time watching her, utterly confused. 

“I want to know what happened to make this place such a disaster.” she replied. “Susan kinda told me some stuff but-”

“Pacifica, that’s what we’re all here to find out.” 

“I know! I know! I just don’t want to miss anything!”

“I get that you’re close to Susan, but-”

“Dipper, Susan deserves to know about this stuff. She… she can’t remember most of it. It’d be nice to just give her… y’know. Some closure.” 

“Hey, I get it. I just dunno if we’ll find that halfway up these stairs.”

Pacifica blinked and looked down, realising they’d only got ten steps up. 

There was an awkward pause. 

“R-right.” she huffed. “M-maybe I don’t have to check _everything_.”

Dipper chuckled. 

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You kinda remind me of… well, me.” He smiled. “It’s cute.”

Pacifica smirked, fighting off the flush in her cheeks and twisting on her heel, giving him a tap on the nose… “You do _not_ get to call me _cute_ , Dipper Pines.”

"He calls you way more than that in his diary." Mabel said, completely nonplussed, as she balanced one of her miniature cat toys atop a rusted pipe. 

Dipper stammered. "C-c-c'mon, guys. We have work to do."

"We aren't getting paid."

"Close enough."

Down below, Stan and Ford were searching for their own route into the factory's higher levels, in almost complete silence, trying to ignore the unnerving feelings that seemed to be rattling around the entire building.

There was a strange, continuous tension. Like the structure was listening. Listening to every footstep, every heartbeat. 

The brothers didn't speak of it - but they both felt it. It was as if they were inside an ant farm, being studied by something far larger than themselves, but markedly disconnected from their reality. 

The two knew who it reminded them of, and neither were in any way interested in discussing the potential for him still having eyes lurking in the darkness. 

Why the hell would he be interested in Dinkies, anyway? It's irrational to think he'd be here.

Ford glanced at his brother and twisted his lip. "So. The whole Susan thing."

"Huh?" 

"What gives? I'm told you tried it last summer and it went straight out of the window. Too many cats. Too much cat hair. Too much cat talk-" 

Stan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Ford, I know you don't get the whole relationship thing, alright? You're fine to spend mosta your life alone."

"And you aren't?" 

"I thought I was. But after last Summer, I uh…" Stan paused for a moment and cleared his throat. "I sorta realised somethin'. I spent thirty years workin' on your portal, Ford. I never got into any relationships, just these vague kinda… flings."

"You were a swinger, huh?" Ford smirked. 

"Ha! Sorta, I guess. I tried with Susan the first time before you even got back, right? I had other stuff on my mind. Other stuff to do. She was bonkers and I got freaked out. But since you're back, I mean-" 

He gesticulated with his hands and looked up at his brother to see if Ford was even vaguely following. The old scientist was, if nothing else, somewhat difficult to read - and not a man to admit when he didn't understand something. 

"... I haven't got much in my life that _commits_ , Sixer. The kids come for summer, I sometimes get a call from their folks, but for mosta the time it's been me, Soos and the Shack. That ain't a life. It's bein' a hermit."

Ford leant against one of the piles of crates and raised an eyebrow as Stan took a swig from a hip flask and offered it to him. 

He took it and sniffed, wrinkling his nose. "Is that… Pitt Cola?" 

"Ya think I'm gonna take booze to this place? Ya crazy?" Stan grinned. "Anyway, throughout the trip out ta th'Pacific, the Arctic, all that junk, Susan kept in contact. And it felt kinda nice." 

Ford swigged the cola and tried not to shudder at the taste. He _hated_ peach. "So you decided to try again?"

"Since the kids threw off the whole Blind Eye stuff, Susan's kinda more… eh, less crazy. Easier ta talk to. And we talk and sorta… fall into it, I guess."

The scientist was not a fan of subtext or metaphor. He just outright said it. "Do you love her?" 

Stan winced. "I don't think either of us see it like that, we just kinda… flirt and mess around together. Keeps us both feelin' a little younger, y'know?" 

"I shan't pretend to understand the allure of relationships, Stanley. But if it does help, I'm all for it."

"Ya never get that itch yourself?"

"A bit of experimenting in college, the odd uh… _odd_ fling. I gave all that up nearly twenty years ago, though. I'm not very good at it. Not very good at maintaining interest." 

"It ain't weakness to commit, Ford."

"I know, Stanley. And I'm happy for you. But I've tried it, and it wasn't for me. Equally valid as doing it, ey?" 

"That's fair." Stan nodded, rubbing his chin. 

Ford smiled and have his brother an awkward sibling hug, complete with two pats on the back. "Thank you."

"Huh?"

"I sometimes underestimate how much you sacrificed, Stanley. And I do appreciate it, even if I'm not the best at expressing it."

"Hey, ya keep buyin' the drinks an' fundin' the adventures, I'll keep comin' with. Someone's gotta keep you outta trouble." The crook grinned as he punched Ford in the arm playfully. 

Ford smirked. Then rubbed his arm and winced the moment his brother turned his back. 

The two carried on rummaging and exploring through the crooked, creaking hulk, feeling somewhat more content to have had one of those 'heart to heart' discussions. Even if it was one of the most awkward things the two had ever done. 


	7. On the Catwalk

The higher the kids got, the colder and less secure the old factory felt. It grew frigid and dank, with thin layers of liquid streaking down brickwork and metal, where the roof was no longer capable of holding out the Oregon rainfall. 

The younger trio were hard at work exploring just about every nook and cranny they could as they ascended to the highest levels of the factory’s ladders and floors, following pipes and twisted cables that had once led to the factory’s machinery. Their only outwardly obvious company was dust and soot floating in the narrow beams of sunlight, glinting as they travelled through the murky, bitter atmosphere they had entered.

They heard the occasional rattle of chains, or clank of slowly collapsing machinery, or tinkle of falling glass - but not a sound otherwise. Nothing that dictated human, tangible company. Up there, even the two Grunkles’ discussions were barely audible, muffled by the hollow winds and whistling tones of draughts in that seemingly endless pile of brickwork, concrete and wrought iron. 

There was no further sign of those spindly creatures with the bad posture. Pacifica was secretly glad - she’d kind of like to get history stuff and not crazy monster stuff today. All the same, her curiosity - her natural love of investigating, her growing fascination with this stuff…

It was intoxicating.

To someone so used to being cooped up under her parent’s wings (literally, a giant pair of gold wings used to decorate her bedroom), the entire _thing_ , the mystery and monster _thing_ was just outright intoxicating. Irresistible.

An unbeatable concoction of adrenaline and happiness, neither of which was that common for her beforehand. 

She leant over one of the barriers with a wide smile on her face and surveyed the forgotten building with fascination, trying to hide that slight giddiness she felt as she took in the fact this was how she was spending her evening.

Exploring abandoned buildings with her new family, looking to get answers for her _other_ new family, and doing so with the guy she was utterly _convinced_ was the love of her life. And for the Pines this was just business as usual? That was crazy. It was crazy a few weeks ago, and it was just as crazy now.

She loved it. She almost felt like she had to pinch herself half of the time. Like right now, when she had accidentally lagged behind the group. She power walked as swiftly as she could to Mabel and Dipper, pretending she had been there all the while. Perhaps not the time for introspection, considering they were hunting for those weird, tall, thin… things that had been staring at them from above. 

“No Kevin today?” Dipper asked his sister, trying his damnedest to get his walkie talkie to clip onto his shorts - with limited success. 

“We aren’t permanently attached at the hip Dipper. Not that I’d protest if he wanted to be.” Mabel beamed. “He’s off doing lumberjack stuff.” 

“Seems almost weird being just us three again.” Pacifica smiled, taking the walkie talkie from Dipper and attaching it for him instead. “He fits in pretty well.”

“Hey, you two lovebirds want alone time, you just let me know.” Mabel grinned, shooting finger guns with a wink. “I’m no third wheel!”

“You think we’re gonna feel romantic in a place like this?!” Pacifica snapped. “Seriously?”

“You mystery-obsessed conspiracy weirdos get excited by weird stuff.” Mabel shrugged. “I won’t judge.”

“What do you think we’d even _do_?” Dipper added. “We’re like, kids.”

“I dunno how crazy you two get. I mean, it just starts with a kiss…”

“How the heck would you know?!”

“Age-inappropriate romantic fiction.” Mabel nodded sincerely, now clambering on one of the ancient chains. “My childhood ended last summer and most of it was in pages written by really, really desperate housewives.” 

Suddenly, the chain jerked. Mabel’s eyes widened. 

“Get off there!” Dipper shouted. “It’s gonna drop!”

“Wait…” Mabel replied, bouncing a little to try and force it. 

With a shuddering creak and the sound of old metal fracturing, the enormous chain began to ratchet downwards, grinding and screeching as it reeled through pulleys, hooks and guide rails across the factory, 

Stan and Ford froze, the kids fell silent, and - for a brief moment - even the spindly silhouettes of creatures unknown seemed to freeze. All of them - every living soul, even if they weren’t entirely sure of the latter’s species - watched in silence and awe as, for at least a brief moment, the entire place came alive with noise and motion - perhaps the busiest it had been in nearly eighty years. 

The chain shuddered down to the floor in one of the corners of the factory’s central machine hall - and landed, with a clink, next to a large iron hook, seemingly beset into the floor with little obvious reasoning. 

Ford and Stan looked at each other, then back up at the kids, who were equally bewildered. 

“Boom.” Mabel grinned. “Mabel secrets!”

“Did you have any idea that was gonna happen?” Pacifica asked. 

“Not a single clue!” Came the typically enthusiastic - if, ultimately, anticlimactic - response. “I’m just super good at investigating!”

“I feel like we should probably carry on looking for the… things first.” Dipper said, before flinching as the walkie talkies burst into life with the sound of static. 

“ ** _CHZKT_ ** \- Dipper, I think you should probably carry on looking for the...things first. Over.” Ford said over the electronic crackle. 

“Yeah, we were just saying the same, over.”

“ ** _CCCHZZZKTT_ ** \- Great, great. Over.”

“Yeah. Over.”

Pacifica felt her eye twitch with every ‘over’. “I swear I’m going to smash those walkie talkies. You and your uncle are such dorks.” 

“Like you wouldn’t do the same.” Dipper paused for a moment then grinned “... Over.”

She burst into giggles and made her best attempt to look serious, storming towards him with her boots stomping on the iron mesh below their feet. “Oh, you are so _dead_ , Dipper Pines.”

“Deadly handsome, right?” He smirked, standing his ground with his hands on his hips.

“You wish!” She grinned, grabbing his vest and preparing to lock lips with him-

“ ** _CKKKHT-_ ** Stay focused, you two. Over.”

Pacifica twisted her lip. “Your Grunkle Ford doesn’t own me. Pucker up, Dip.”

Dipper’s jaw dropped and he began to stammer. At first, Pacifica took it as his usual awkwardness - but there, behind her back, a shambling, spindly, crooked figure began approaching them, groaning and grumbling as if it was in perpetual pain. She turned to look at whatever Dipper was gibbering at -and clenched his arms tighter with her nails. Her face dropped in sheer, unadulterated fear. 

“Dipper… Dipper, what do we do?!”

“I- I- I dunno!”

“We need to climb higher-”

“The steps are _behind_ it!”

They split and began backing away fearfully, Mabel swiftly following, although - seemingly - far less frantically. She was sure there was something she recognised in that weird silhouette. Something freaky. _Uncanny_. And _totally_ lacking _style_. 

The creature’s wiry arms seemed almost perpetually slumped, its skinny shoulders rocking back and forth, its thin head slunk low, almost blending into its paperweight torso. The legs below the thing were unnaturally slim and somewhat bowed. It occasionally took a breathless grunt as it continued its slow, awkward pursuit towards them. 

The kids began to panic - perhaps rightfully. There was no doubt this creature was inhuman. What person could be so unnaturally shaped, so strange in its motion, so bizarre and threatening in its behaviour?

“Ge-get back!” Pacifica yelled at it. “We don’t wanna hurt you!”

The creature mumbled something and continued its slow, stumbling walk.

“It’s hideous…” Dipper gulped. 

The creature continued regardless. 

“GRAPPLING HOOK!” Mabel shouted.

**_Fwip - CLONK!_ **

The creature fell to the catwalk floor the moment that the hook came into forceful contact with its head, landing with a hefty clang.

They barely even dared to see what it was they’d just caught.


	8. Disappointing Catch

“You did it, Mabel!” Dipper grinned, high-fiving his sister. “That was awesome!”

“I totally did it!” Mabel giggled with a celebratory jig. “I got it!!”

“But got what?” Pacifica said. “Like, we need to see what it is, right? What if we killed it?”

Dipper rolled up his sleeve - a completely pointless action when he was wearing a t-shirt, really - and walked towards it with his brow furrowed, his chin out and his shoulders square. The creature lay there, unconscious, murmuring something and seemingly drooling through the mesh of the catwalk floor. 

“What does it smell like?!” Mabel shouted. 

“What kind of weird question is th- oh god, it reeks.” Dipper groaned, holding his nose. “It’s like, really crappy cologne. Dollar store…”

“Ew. In that case, we should burn it.” Pacifica said. “Put it out of its misery.” 

“Oh god, it’s all greasy…” he continued as he began working to turn it over. “It’s wearing a- … Oh no.” Dipper mumbled and let go, backing away.

The two girls ran to the strange being, eager to see what had got Dipper so spooked. They fell back, too, upon casting eyes on the shambling animal. 

It was lean, oily and unpleasant. Its crooked face was covered in tufts of unsightly hair and dominated by a grotesque frown, underneath an oversized nose. Its eyes were circled in pure darkness, that seemed to streak and flow down the sides of its face. 

The smell was overpowering. It was obnoxious.

The entire creature was obnoxious. 

As obnoxious as it came.

It was **_Robbie_**. 

It was, if anything, worse than Dipper could have expected. Robbie. Robbie Valentino. Of all the people he had managed to largely avoid in Gravity Falls this summer, Robbie was the one he was happiest not to see. And now they’d hit him with a grappling hook.

Now he was kinda sad he wasn’t the one firing, frankly. 

He knew of Pacifica’s (thankfully expired) crush on him, and after the Wendy stuff it only made him despise the oily, hoodie-festooned teenager even more. It didn’t help that Mabel and Pacifica were far less scornful of the guy than he was. 

“Is he okay?” Pacifica asked, crouching down to look closer. 

“Yeah, he’s fine. Even a grappling hook can’t get through all this hairspray. Look.” Mabel rapped her knuckles on Robbie’s hair to demonstrate. Sure enough, it knocked as if it was made out of mahogany. “Probably suggested by Tambry.” 

“You think those two are still together?” Pacifica asked. 

Dipper scratched his head. “Two mopey, unpleasant scene kids who use too much hair product? Definitely.”

“Practically made for each other, and it was all my own work!” Mabel giggled. “With a bit of Love God juice.” 

“Please don’t talk about Love God Juice.” Dipper sighed, rubbing his temples.

“What do you have against Love God Juice?” 

“It just sounds...awful.” 

“Love God Juice!” Mabel chirped with more feeling, prodding Dipper’s arm. “Love God Juice! Love God Juice! Love God Juice-”

They fell silent as another wiry figure came out from the shadows with no fanfare, announcement or… well, anything, save the tip-tapping of her fingers on her cell. 

“That’s the name of his latest single.” Tambry said disinterestedly, taking a picture of Robbie’s unconscious body with her cellphone. “What did you do to him?”

“We kinda mistook him as a zombie thing.” Pacifica tried her damnedest to make it sound as… not ridiculous as possible. She wasn’t sure if it worked too well. 

“Huh, not the first time.” The scene kid replied. “C’mon guys, we’ll move him to the set.”

“You got a set?” Dipper wrinkled his nose as he dragged Robbie along with the others. “Why?”

“We’re doing a photoshoot for his band, duh.” 

“Here?”

“Yeah, it’s like, totally retro, but like - totally dark and foreboding.” Tambry replied, flicking her hair - while still maintaining fixed on her cellphone, and doing very little to help the kids drag her boyfriend across the floor.

Dipper didn’t like how she seemed to say everything as if it was a question. Or how she did nothing to help. Actually, he was pretty sure he just didn’t like Tambry. 

The band’s set was predictably unimpressive, consisting mostly of a stage made of old planks of wood, a 24-pack of Pitt and Nate and Lee dressed in black, waiting for the two to return. There was a pretty lame hand painted banner behind them and a few power banks to charge their phones with, but otherwise?

Lame.

“Oh hey, you’re back.”

“What happened to Robbie?”

“Eh, got hit with a grappling hook.” Tambry shrugged, dropping him on the floor. Those weird Pines kids are here.”

Dipper, Mabel and Pacifica smiled awkwardly as they unceremoniously dropped Robbie to the floor with a thump. Nate and Lee looked over with a complete lack of concern, and, instead, a growing level of enthusiasm. 

“Dude, cool as hell.” Nate grinned, high fiving Lee for literally no reason. “We can pretend he’s like, dead, and make that into our poster. Like, a sort of ‘dead from being too cool’ thing, right?” 

“Dude, that’s totally cool.”

“I know, right? We’d like, get the posters put up everywhere, and we can, like, fake his death and use it as a PR campaign! Then BAM! Like, he’s not really dead, he just partied too hard!”

Lee crouched to Mabel and grabbed her shoulders frantically. “How many times can you hit him with that Grappling Hook?!” 

“Oh, you just tell me when he needs hitting and I’ll be here!!” Mabel grinned excitedly, clearly all for the idea. 

Dipper was increasingly perturbed. “Wait, wait, wait. _You’re_ the other members of Robbie V and the Tombstones? You can play instruments?”

“Yeah dude.” Nate beamed. “I like, play drum, bass, synth-” 

Dipper was genuinely pretty impressed. “Dude, really?” 

“Yeah, bro. This is my rig, I call her Lucinda!” Nate replied, pulling out his laptop. 

Dipper was... no longer impressed. “That’s- that’s not a drum set, or bass, or synth. That’s a computer.”

“Yeah dude, I can, like, play everything.”

“... On your computer.”

“It’s like the ultimate instrument, dude!”

“It’s not an instrument. It’s a computer.” Dipper wasn’t sure if it was their connection to Robbie, but right now, he really hated the fact these guys were here.

In fact, he was kind of wondering why the hell he had ever wanted to hang around with them. He was pretty sure he didn’t like teenagers.

Lee rubbed the back of his neck. “... I play the smoke machine.”

“And he does it freakin’ well.” Nate beamed. “Lee is like, the smoke machine master. Both on and off stage. HAW!”

“Dude, nice!” Lee grinned, punching Nate in the arm. 

Dipper was now very sure he didn’t like teenagers. Man, is this what growing up means? Sure, he’s only 13, but these guys seemed almost… I dunno. Immature. Weird. 

“I mean, he was walking really weird.” Pacifica said. “Like, his legs were all stiff and bowed and stuff.”

“He’s wearing, like, his skinniest jeans for this photoshoot.” Tambry explained. “Look at this, I can like, wrap my thumb and index finger around his thigh. Hot as hell, right?”

“Uh…” Pacifica wrinkled her nose. “Sure. I guess. And the weird walking?”

“Probably trying to freak you all out, or his super-skinny shirt is a bit tight too….” Tambry mumbled, rubbing her chin. 

“... And the mumbling?” Dipper finally asked.

“I mean, it _is_ Robbie,” Pacifica replied.

“... Right, right.” 

In retrospect, it all made a lot of sense. 

“Dudes, what are you like, even doing here?” Nate finally asked after shutting his laptop’s lid. “Nobody comes down here except us.”

“Yeah!” Lee added. “And we’re teenagers! This is, like, what we do! If it’s got tetanus, we’ll probably lick it for a dollar!”

“Bro, do you remember when we went to the museum and you licked that smallpox blanket?”

“... No.” Lee grimaced. “No, I- I don’t.”

Nate nodded understandingly and patted his back.

An awkward pause ruled, punctuated by the two guys unceremoniously poking Robbie with a length of copper pipe, the three kids standing aimlessly and waiting for - well, anything to happen. 

“We’re just exploring,” Pacifica said. “We think something crazy is going on.”

“Wait,” Tambry said, batting the length of copper pipe away from her boyfriend. “Crazy as in cool crazy, or convenience store crazy?”

“Prrrrrrobably convenience store crazy.” Dipper replied. “But we don’t really know.”

Mabel pouted. “The convenience store was _kinda_ cool.” 

“Should we, like, go?” Tambry asked. “I’m kinda not looking to get attacked by ghosts or… whatever weird stuff you kids deal with.”

“Na dude, I wanna see what the kids get up to!” Lee grinned. “These little dudes are awesome!”

“Heh. Thanks. You guys are… uh… fine.” Dipper chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. 

“You two made out yet?” Nate asked the couple with his usual lack of subtlety. 

Mabel tried not to burst into laughter. 

Dipper flushed red and squirmed. “Uh-” 

Pacifica had no such reservations. “Have you and Lee?” She snapped. 

Mabel now failed in trying not to burst into laughter. 

That was enough to shut up any questioning. Besides, Pacifica was pretty sure she knew the answer. They totally had.

Teenagers. 

_Figures._

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe we've actually gotten into the 8th episode. Remember when this was meant to be a one-off story? I remember. Simpler times. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my brilliant fiancee, Kyo, for her proofreading, patience and story suggestions.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoy; your engagement means the world and guarantees more chapters and tales in the series. In a fandom completely dominated by long running, often supremely edgy or tedious content, every click of that little kudos button feels like a truly wonderful reward. 
> 
> \----
> 
> Find my artwork:  
> www.jamooneyart.deviantart.com
> 
> Find my socials:  
> www.jamooney.tumblr.com  
> www.instagram.com/jamooneyart
> 
> Or my alternative history novel:  
> www.thegreatconspiracy.co.uk


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